


Who We Are (the becoming you and me remix)

by snogged



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:48:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2486759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snogged/pseuds/snogged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and many other corporations own the characters and recognizable elements from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.<br/>Pairing: Buffy/Angel<br/>Rating/Warnings: FRT/PG; hints at Angel’s dark side and sexual innuendo. Mostly, though this is pretty close to fluffy for me.<br/>Word Count: 1149<br/>Setting: Set during the 1996 flashback of Season 2, “Becoming Part 1.”<br/>Summary:  What if Angel had introduced himself to Buffy when he first saw her in LA?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who We Are (the becoming you and me remix)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: The thorough and efficient velvetwhip. All other mistakes are mine.
> 
> A/N: I’d like to make a shout-out to pickamix, who suggested the bunny that led to this story. I’d also like to thank angelus2hot for running the IWRY marathon. I have a love for Buffy/Angel and this was my first time participating in the marathon.

Welcome to Los Angeles.

City of....

No. Can't really call himself one of those yet. Not until he's figured out why Whistler has brought him....

Here.

To the sun-baked land of California. It's a far cry from the trash-bag and rat-infested alleys of New York...and it's an even longer drive via train and "borrowed" cars. His usual mode of transportation has always been to tuck himself into the dark corners of a freighter ship, but it's hard to make that happen quickly.

So that's why he's here.

_Here._

 

In the backseat of a cheap blue-and- rust-colored Chevy Impala with windows that were hastily slopped on with some stolen cans of black paint he found in an alley behind a hardware store. The petty theft doesn’t do anything to convince him there’s still anything good inside of him, but at least it keeps the sun at bay.

He rolls the window down just a crack, giving the rays of light just enough of an invitation to singe off the ratted knots of his hair. He's unkempt, disheveled. He's a veteran of a war where he's felt like a schizophrenic soldier for nearly a century. He's been the demon and the man, locked in an eternal struggle for dominance.

So when he sees her for the first time, he's really not surprised that a new battle begins to rage. 

Staring out the window at a group of giggly teenage girls reminds him of the amazing predator he once was. Dark, agile, and ruler of all things Aurelius. The demon inside of him smirks as she pops the round red lollipop into her mouth, swirling her little pink tongue around the diameter. The act is laced with naiveté and latent sexuality. If the soul were not there to combat the demon, Angelus would have gladly forced the girl to her knees and put that naughty little tongue to much better uses, much like he had with those nuns at St. Catherine's. 

 

Angel shivers and groans as his soul burns with the sins of his past, the horrors of that night. He's flooded with images of other nights as well where young blondes writhed and wriggled beneath him screaming for mercy as he drew out their pain, waiting for their last breath to hitch in their throats before he tore them from their mortal coil.

He nearly throws his head through the glass, ready to burn in the California sun, before Whistler reaches over and rolls the window up.

"Careful, big guy. We already had the chat about you and your tortured soul. Don’t need to be making me vacuum vampire dust off these remarkable leather seats now, got it?”

Angel nods and whispers:

"Why did you bring me here?"

Whistler shakes his head, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "I told you once, could tell you a thousand times.” He raps his fist against the side of Angel’s head and Angel growls in defense. Whistler pulls back his hand and shrugs: “You needed to see this, man. Needed to see the world through her eyes, see if you’re more than a useless dumpster vampire. You need to see the big moments that you just know she doesn't see coming. Makes you itch to see more, doesn't it? Don't you just want to know how big the britches are on this girl?" 

Angel considers this for a minute and then, rolls down the window again. Just as Whistler predicted, an older gentleman has approached the pretty blonde on the stairs and Angel can hear him speak to her. 

_Destiny._

_Vampire Slayer._

_Chosen one._

A normal teenager would use some awful colloquialism like “bug off” and call the cops on the possibly crazy old man in the stuffy suit and tie But this girl is different. Despite her Valley girl sentiments and wide, doe-eyed stare of disbelief, she still gets up to follow him

She chooses to become somebody instead of wasting away on the sidelines of the football game hoping some self-absorbed twit notices her waving her pom-poms and takes her to the prom.

Isn’t that what Whistler wants him to do?

Not the pom-pom part, of course, but the other part. 

The part about becoming someone.

About being counted among the heroes.

"Are you getting it yet?" Whistler asks "Or do I need to continue on with this Dickensian adventure?"

"I want to see more," Angel replies and that is what they do.

He watches her fight.

His body tenses as the vampire tackles her, pinning her beneath him. The demon inside is cheering, but the soul knows better. He can see the fight in her, can see the way the panic alters her movements. She’s a fighter, a survivor of the own battle that is now being waged in her mind. She stakes the vampire once (in the gut), again in the heart, and his own demon stills.

The Watcher appears, daring her to understand the true depths of her power, and Angel watches again as she struggles to understand. The Watcher leaves her alone again and he takes a step forward, alerting the young woman to his presence as he crushes five sticks beneath his feet.

“Do I kill you too? She asks, her voice tentative as she takes in his appearance. “Or do homeless guys get to win some sort of vampire charity thing?”

A half-smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“I’m a friend.”

“Then why are you following me?”

He raises his eyes brows

“I saw you. At school today. I didn’t know that you were a vampire or anything, but I…I did feel something. That thing that old guy was telling me about. Um…it was like Slayer instinct or something.”

Angel nods. “I don’t bite. Promise.”

She extends her pinky to him, slender and painted pink at the top. He eyes her with confusion and she shakes it at him as if that will send the message across loud and clear.

“It’s a pinky swear.”

She steps forward, tentatively extending her hand across the space between them and he nods in understanding. He hooks his pinky finger with hers and she exhales sharply, without letting go.

“I don’t know if it’s the cemetery or something, but you super smell like death.”

He chuckles and she smiles.

“Yeah, I gotta work on that. A friend is going to help me though. As long as he doesn’t make me dress like him.”

She nods and the appearance of blush creeps into her cheeks.

“Or you know, I could always help. No on the vamp polish, of course, because that’s way not trendy. But maybe we could try a hair-cut and a little bit of hair gel? Also, silk. Red silk is definitely in this year.

Also, I’m Buffy. Buffy Summers.”

His eyes soften and he takes her full hand into his.

Welcome to Los Angeles.

City of…

“Angel. Call me Angel.”


End file.
